Tag Archives: Bestiality
Protected: Frankie Gets Fucked
Protected: A Few Tricks, A Little Treat – Andrew and Jane at it Again!
Smalltown Strumpet – Flaming Lips
6
Smalltown Strumpet – Part III: Flaming Lips
Continued From: The Doctor Will See You Now
The Flaming Lips
Lo was out of commission. There would be no sexy suntanning in the front yard, no strip club short-short shenanigans, no teasing the townies down Main Street. She spent much of her time submerged in the clawfoot tub or strutting bottomless around the house, airing out her nettle-enflamed pussy. She had to sit on pillows and masturbating was now out of the question. This put her in a very unpleasant mood.
Though I wished to attend to her, I needed to get out of the house, lest I bear the brunt of her frustration with her cunt.
I had been working on an article about bestiality portrayed in art and literature through the centuries and thought I’d mosey down to the local library to continue my studies.
Lo had taken a couple of Tylenol PM and was resting comfortably when I slipped out with my computer and backpack. I figured I had a couple of hours to myself.
The library was a very small brick building. There were two rooms and a small anteroom at the entrance that contained the check-out desk, a couple of computers, and a display table for new books.
I set up in a small corner of the library, sitting in a large, square, worn brown leather club chair that looked like it was at least as old as I am. It was remarkably comfortable and the arms were flat, so they were perfect for resting my books and computer around me conveniently.
I began by looking at a blog from Remittance Girl on “Defending the Indefensible: Bestiality in Erotica.” It was a great place to start my research. She had written the article in response to censorship of erotica authors by PayPal – an infringement of speech that this very author had suffered by that very company! They should call it PrudePal.
In her article she referenced one of my favorite authors, Neil Gaiman, and his defense of Chris Handley, among others who have been prosecuted for the material they read, write, draw, collect, sell, or possess.
This led me down a rabbit hole into a morass of law, liberty, and lurid content. Thank goodness my chair had its back against the wall because if any local busybody were to see the ‘scholarly studies’ I was researching, there’s no telling what would happen.
Actually, there is a telling what would happen and if you have a moment, I will inform you as to the tempest in a teapot that an oversight by me stirred up in that little hamlet.
I was deep into my investigation of Greek portrayals of bestiality and had about ten different books from the library surrounding my chair when I received a text from Lola. “Where are you, Daddy?”
I guess I won’t be able to start my deep dive into Hokusai and the Japanese tradition of erotic images. I packed up my stuff hastily, leaving behind the library books in their sprawling spread of towers on the armchair.
Perhaps another time I will get back to you with my developed thoughts on the matter.
I drove back to the house where we were staying, to find Lo fully naked and fully submerged in the tub. She looked up at me and said, “I’m wet, and not just because I’m taking a bath.”
“Feeling better?”
“Much,” she said. “But you left me, Daddy!” She pouted.
“I’m sorry Lo, but. . .”
“Shut up and get naked.”
“I’m not going for a swim. There’s only room for one in there.”
“Who said anything about that?” she asked as she put her mouth on the edge of the tub and opened wide. She looked up at me. “Insert your cock. I’ll be your cumdump.”
I did as instructed. She sucked. I fucked (her face). Water splashed around. She contorted in the tub, eventually getting to a position where her legs were going straight up the wall in a “V” formation, her head was tilted back over the opposite side of the tub, and she was squeezing her tits and pulling on her nipples as I fucked her face. With every thrust into her mouth and down her throat, my heavy ball sack was slapping up against her upside-down face, smacking her squarely in the eyes and on the bridge of her nose. She liked it.
Lo, cooling down her flaming lips
Somehow the plug came undone and the water drained out of the tub. Lo moved her hands from her tits to her pussy. She began smacking it hard and then even harder. She slapped her pussy like a mother spanking a very naughty child, with force and anger, until she finally squirted all over the wall of the bathroom. The naughty child crying from the pain, perhaps. Seeing that, I couldn’t control myself any longer and I came directly into Lo’s esophagus. She gagged and nearly puked in the tub from the odd position of the climax.
I was dreading another trip to the hospital!
She jumped out of the tub, coughing and sputtering like she had been tossed at sea. Cum was oozing out of her nostrils and she was struggling to catch her breath. When she finally did, she said something I didn’t quite catch.
“What?” I asked.
“That was awesome,” she repeated.
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“This stinging sensation in my pussy lips really makes for an incredible orgasm.”
“You should sit in poison nettles more often.”
“I think I might be able to have sex now, Daddy.”
“Really?”
“Yes, but my pussy is still burning. Do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Grab a tray of ice cubes from the freezer and meet me in the bedroom.”
I did as she asked, wondering how I was going to get hard again in order to give her what she wanted.
I met her in the bedroom and she was lying on her back.
“Take an ice cube and trace it around my labia,” she said.
I gently applied the cold, slippery, dripping ice to her pussy lips. She loved it.
“Slip it in.”
I inserted it.
“Another,” she said.
I did the same thing a second time.
“Again,” she said.
And a third time.
This continued until there were more ice cubes in her pussy than in a tall glass of lemonade.
“Now fuck me.”
At this point, the eroticism of what I had been doing had me rigid. Timidly I inserted the tip of my penis just a bit into her ice-packed pussy.
It felt cold. Freezing, to be exact. But not unpleasant.
“Fuck me!”
She likes to go from zero to balls-deep in under a minute.
I slide my rod all the way into her snow cone. There was a curious mixing of hot and cold and wet, since all the ice cubes were melting pretty rapidly inside her.
We had hardly started to stir her dirty Shirley when she said, “Go get more ice.”
I pulled out, feeling a chill on my thermometer, and got another tray of ice.
I inserted my manhood to her ice bucket and as I fucked her, the friction creating heat and melting her internal coolant, she reached over and took fresh ice cubes and, one-by-one, slipped them into her slit over the shaft of my cock. The tightness, the alternating hot and cold, the slip-sliding of the cubes inside her pussy, was unlike anything I had ever felt.
“Should I put a few in my ass?” she whispered.
I couldn’t answer and before I knew it, she was spreading her ass cheeks with one hand and putting the cubes in with the other.
“Do you want my ass, Daddy?”
I did. I did, so bad.
I pulled out and slid my hot and cold compress into her smaller icebox and within mere seconds I melted her heart with the heat of my love.
I pulled out and all the white, watery liquid spilled out of both holes as she stood up to go to the bathroom. It quickly dribbled down her inner thighs to her feet and puddled on the hardwood floor, leaving a trail from the bedroom to the bathroom. I suddenly heard a loud rattle. Her remaining ice cubes slipped out and crackled on the tile floor.
“Whoops!” I heard her call.
When she returned, she got on her knees beside the bed and looked up at me.
“Did you like that Daddy?”
“Very much, Lo,” I said.
She licked my balls and continued up my cock and then took the tip of my flaccid shaft into her mouth. “Can I be your cock-warmer, Daddy?” she asked before taking the entire length of it in her mouth and resting her head gently on my inner thigh.
[To be continued. . .]
Lo’s cockwarmer
Protected: Sister Sadist
Victory Lap
As she made the ‘OK’ sign with her index finger and thumb, my hard cock filled the hole of that universal hand-gesture that indicates everything is alright. And everything was better than alright. She was lying under my arched, naked body, her left hand doing the bare minimum necessary to still qualify as a hand-job. I was doing most of the work, thrusting in and out of her digital aperture. She was lying naked on her back, her right hand doing more work on her clit than her left on my dick. But, hey, it’s not a competition. I was pleased. She was pleasing – herself and me.
“That’s it, you big, bad dog,” she said in a sultry tone, referencing the taboo topic of her acquired technique.
She knew exactly what that would do to me. She plays me like a fiddle with her nimble fingers, though I’m sure she’d rather play a long, black clarinet that requires both hands to get the proper fingering and also the use of a wet mouth and tongue to blow all those Ds loud and with proper dynamics.
Within seconds my baton was conducting the final climactic notes of this symphony.
As I write these tortured metaphors, I can hear Lo laughing and saying, “Symphony! P’shaw, more like a minuet.”
Be that as it may, she was covered in pearlesque droplets from chin to chest.
Holiday Glaze
I fell back onto the bed, relishing the sweet release she uncorked for me.
But she, rather than lounge in the lethargic bliss I was enjoying, hopped out of bed, put on her jeans and a tank-top, and said, “Do you want to come walk with me?”
Or, at least that’s what I understood her to say. What she actually said was, “Do you want to cum-walk with me?”
“What?” I asked groggily.
“Cum-walk.”
“I don’t want to walk.”
“No, Daddio, a cum-walk.”
“What’s a cum-walk?” I asked, finally understanding what she was articulating.
“It’s like a walk of shame. A stride of pride, a victory lap, the trek of triumph, the Something About Mary hommage,” she said with a French accent.
“Since when is that a thing?”
“Oh, old man, hurry up, get dressed, and I’ll tell you as you accompany my for a strumpet stride through the neighborhood.”
“Ok, ok,” I said, laughing, “You’re killing me with these colorful combinations of colloquialisms for cum.”
“Say that four times fast!”
“Where’d you learn all those?
“Eskimos have forty different words for snow and I. . .”
“Forget it. I don’t want to hear what precipitated your poetic euphemisms.”
When I was dressed, we walked outside, arm-in-arm. She was proud to have the origin of her adornments accompany her as she displayed her latest accomplishment.
She said hello in a flirtatious voice to the others who passed us by on the delightful spring morning. Out of the corner of her eye, she tried to spy if they looked carefully enough to discern what was glinting in the sunlight on her cheek, chin, neck, and shoulder.
“So, when did this become a thing?” I asked again.
“It’s always been a thing. I mean, remember the time at the nude beach when you came all over my face and tits?”
“Which time?”
“Oh, Daddio. The beach with the geriatric gentlemen who genuflected at my altar.”
“Right. Yeah, so?”
“Remember, after you rained your love down on me, we walked together, saying hi to the beachcombers.”
“Yeah, I remember, fondly.”
“And the time I met that very nice athlete in the park.”
“You mean the big black guy who came on you?”
“You have a good memory for an old man.”
“That’s why I write these things down – to keep your paramours straight.”
“Oh, straight is ok, but I prefer kinky paramours.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Anyhow, after he came on me and I walked up to you dripping with his jizz. That also was a cum-walk.”
“I see.”
“Are you going to write about this one?”
“Of course I am, even if no one believes me.”
“They don’t believe you, Daddy?”
“Lo, you can understand that a lot of people find you unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told that before.”
“Morning,” said a passerby.
“Hi,” Lo chirped back in a perky voice. Her tits were perky too in her see-through white tank-top.
Lo’s braless top
“Getting a lot of looks,” I remarked to her.
“Yeah, but I made the wrong choice.”
“How’s that?”
“They’re all looking at my chest, not my face.”
“Ah yes, the age-old dilemma. What’s the reaction you’re looking for?”
“I’d just like a tall, dark, and handsome man to give me a long stare that says, ‘I know what you just did, you slut.”
“I think you take too much pleasure in this.”
“Oh, Daddio! The only thing more pleasurable is when it’s leaking out of my puss through my panties and shorts at the same time as it’s on my face.”
“Do you have a special name for that walk?”
“The Double-Stuff Strut, The Cream-Pie Promenade, The Spit-Roast Saunter.”
“I should have known.”
admiration
Illustrator Needed for Disney Damsel Lola Down
Belle’s Bestiality, Getting off to Lola Down together
“Daddy,” she complained, “diddling my bean is fine, but it’s not as much fun as when it’s diddled by someone else.”
“You want me to diddle your bean?” I asked.
“What I mean is, a surprise. A stranger. An unexpected diddle.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, “the serendipitous fappening that one finds unbidden upon the side of the road, in a bar, or wherever one may get one’s jollys jilled on a sunny spring day.”
“Without putting it quite so poetically, yes. After all, it is May. Masturbation Month. Hooray! Hooray! The First of May! Outdoor fucking starts today!” she sang.
“Sounds like you’re the poet.”
“Oh Daddio,” she pouted, as she continued stroking her smoothly shaved pussy on the bedside. “That’s older than you are.”
“A relic from Chaucer’s time then.”
“Maybe as old as Beowulf.”
Her climax was building until she shot a small stream sprinkling up through the air onto the tile floor, much like a shot from a water pistol.
“And what, may I ask, put you over the edge that time?”
“The thought of meeting Grendel in the woods.”
“Grendel diddles Little Lo’s pink riding hood. How literary.”
“Grendel, the Big Bad Wolf, I’d even take Gaston.”
“I bet you would! Or all three, if you were in a crossover series.”
“I like that idea. A Disney fairytale staring Lola Down.”
“Would you be the villain or the princess?”
“Both.”
“Both? Disney stories are not that complex.”
“It would be the story of how Princess Lola Down is usurped from power by the effigies that are made of her in the city because they all depict her naked, like Lady Godiva, but they come to life, like Galatea, and strip Lola of her throne and her clothes. She wanders about the streets, a naked waif or harlot, until one day, through her own power of understanding, she relinquishes her claim to all the reproductions of herself, thereby releasing them from her true essence and allowing them to live on as mere likenesses. By giving up her hold on them (or the hold that she wrongfully believed she had on them), she deprives them of the power they had over her and thus they yield back the throne to her once more.”
Lady G.
Pygmalion and Galatea
“So, you’re victim, villain, and hero?”
“That I am. And you know what else I am?”
“What?”
“Horny.”
“Well, have fun.”
“What?! You’re not going to fuck me? Give me your sword!”
“I’m going to go write that down. You know what they say, the power of the pen is mightier than the sword.”
“Perhaps, but far more diminutive,” she said as she pulled out her huge dildo and held it up in the air as if commanding a great army to victory.
As I sat at the desk writing this story, she impaled herself several times with the wobbly weapon until, finally striking to the quick, she died a glorious death at her own hands. La petite mort.
The Art Cums Alive
Girlfriends
[The Mount Bliss mini-series continues from Craving Attention.]
“What do you want?” demanded Lo, watching Suzanne pace as she ignored the pleas of her prey.
Finally Suzanne walked right up to Lo and looked at her eye-to-eye, took her hand, and said, “There’s only one thing I want. It’s the one thing I can’t have. The one thing you can give me. But, under the circumstances, I don’t even know if it’s possible.”
“What?” asked Lo, exasperated by the suspense.
“I want your friendship.”
“What?!” asked Lo in a completely different tone. She couldn’t have been more taken aback.
“I have no friends. I mean, yes, I have ‘friends,’ but no one who really knows me. No one I feel I can be completely honest with. No one who knows about me and Collin. No one who knows. . . .” She trailed off. Lo knew what she meant. “You and I, we have something in common. I don’t care what Collin does with you. He’s only causing more suffering for himself, the poor thing. I don’t care how attractive, sexy, slutty, or young you are. The truth is, I not only admire you in a lot of ways, I actually like you. Now that we’ve gotten all this out in the open, I just want to have one person that I can confide in. One person who won’t judge me. One person I can trust.”
Lo was confused, but Lo’s defining characteristic, besides her libido, is compassion.
“You know, Suzanne, trust doesn’t grow out of blackmail. It’s not something that can be forged by fear or created by coercion.”
“I know, I know,” said Suzanne taking Lo’s hands in hers. “I didn’t mean to threaten you. It’s just that. . . you and I are on equal footing. You and I are cut from the same cloth. I was trying to point that out, that’s all.”
The truth was that Lo sensed their underlying kinship the first time she met Suzanne. But now things had changed. Now she felt a pang of déjà vu, reminding her of her childhood friend with whom she had had a secret sex pact concerning their mutual experience of puppy love. The sensation filled her with mixed feelings.
“It’s always better to enlist an ally than anger an enemy,” Lo said to me when she recounted the conversation with Suzanne.
Lo accepted Suzanne’s strange offer of camaraderie and then, with a tepid hug and kiss, bade her good night.
I Want to Drown in Lola Down
[The mini-series, “Mount Bliss,” continues from “Shadow of a Doubt”.]
“Yes, Daddy. Yes,” she said as I fucked her. She was flat on the bed, spread eagle, pulling her ass cheeks as far apart as she could with her two hands as I lodged my lustlever as far in her lubricated lovehole as possible. After so long of being apart, we were finally together, no matter the circumstances of how that came about. I had desired her. I had dreamed about her. I had been deprived of her. Now I wanted to be depraved with her. She was already there. I was along for the ride. We were two feral fires fucking.
“My ass, Daddy,” she said over her shoulder.
I pulled out and reentered in the desired spot.
A few lunges deep down, down in Lola Down.
She opened up for me like a brilliant rose in the heat of an August sun-shower.
“My cunt, Daddy,” she said.
I pulled out, still dripping from all the fresh spunk that was slathered on my rigid rod from her previous “lover,” and descended again down deep between Lola’s labia. She was full like a warm pool and her lubricant and loose lips made it so that, in comparison with the tight quarters from where I reamed her in the rear, I could hardly feel her hugging my manhood.
“Turn over,” I commanded as I pulled out of her and lorded my staff over her body like a saber.
“First go in my ass again,” she requested.
I complied. While I was in there, she and I contorted and twisted, legs this way and that, a pull and a turn, but we managed to transpose into anal missionary position so that now she had her legs wrapped around my hips as I delved into her dark recesses down under.
“Alternate,” she commanded.
“What?”
“Back-and-forth from my ass to my pussy and back again with each thrust. Please.”
I did as she pleaded. She wanted to be used in the worst sort of ways. I had lost track of how many times she came. Or was it all just one orgasm? The sheets were soaked as she kept gushing each time I uncorked her geyser to fill her other hole. I was truly amazed at my own stamina. How long could I last? Especially after a week of abstinence. But following her commands took concentration and skill which prevented my mind from focusing on how much of a cock-hungry cum-slut Lola was.
“I want you in my mouth,” Lo said, begging to be degraded even further.
I pulled out of her ass and sat on my haunches, my cock pointing intently toward the sky.
Lo spun around on all fours like a dog at its bowl and began licking from base to tip before enveloping the entire elongated, taut organ into her mouth all the way down to the back of her throat. She devoured it with desire.
Her debauchery and debased disposition, her unabashed and naked carnal corruption, her wild, animalistic craving, intoxicated by its own brazen disregard for society’s norms flooded my spirit with its dark light – the lure of antinomian revelation in which all dichotomies disappear and thought dissolves back into the primordial sea of the body from which it first emerged and hovered over the surface of the deep.
Shadow of a Doubt
[The mini-series, “Mount Bliss,” continues from “Lola on All Fours” with this abridged account.]
We left the rest of the crew standing in disbelief of their own eyes and went up to the bedroom together.
Out of sight of the other four, Lo hugged me so hard that it seemed she would never let go. She began to cry.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” she sniffled into my shirt.
Besides my other kinks and fetishes, I am particularly plagued with a terrible condition known as dacryphilia – the sexual arousal that results from seeing someone cry.
Lo’s tears, her shame, her sexual deviancy, her exhibitionism, her terrible teasing of me all day, nay, all week, and her repeating the refrain of “Daddy” all caused my already hard cock to swell to a stiffness I hadn’t felt in ages.
“Daddy, I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I’m so bad. Daddy, do you even still love me?” she asked, extremely repentant. That’s when she felt my love for her manifest in definitive form.
She dropped to her knees on the floor and held onto my rigid member with one hand and felt my soft sack with the other. She was worshipping it. “Your balls are so big. So full.” If crying turns me on, nothing turns on Lo like a male who is in desperate need of relief.
Tears were still running down her cheeks as she took me in her mouth. She looked up at me, “It’s been so long,” she said. I could feel the teardrops fall on my thigh.
Did she mean so long since she and I had been together or so long since she gave someone a blowjob? I didn’t know.
“Have me, Daddy,” she said, getting on all fours on the bed.
Her puss was still leaking and looked puffy, pink, gleaming and glistening like two perfect slices of tuna sashimi. I know that sounds weird, but I tell it like I saw it.
“What are you waiting for Daddy. Don’t you want to fill me up?” Doggie style, she awaited my mount.
“I feel like I’m in Shadow’s shadow,” I said.
“Don’t think about it that way, Daddy.”
“How should I think about it?”
“Don’t think. Fuck.”
“Don’t think. Fuck,” I thought to myself. Fuck. Fuck her. Fuck her cunt. Fuck her filled foaming warm wet sloppy soaked queefing cum-drenched c*****-infused cunt. And that’s just what I began doing as she audibly moaned with a sound that reminded me of the final, satisfying chord of a symphony. All that tension from the screech of the violins, the percussive pressure of rhythm, the rising anticipation of the bass as it ascends step-by-step up the scales, finally resolved in one beautiful resolution that was Lo’s guttural moan of pleasure. Mount Bliss.
I knew, however, that the tone of gratification was prelude to the new composition that she and I were in the process of creating together. I pulled back and saw in the darkness . . . thick cum drip from the labia just before I pushed back in, deep and far.
Lo collapsed onto the bed, lunging forward from her doggie style position to being sprawled out on her tum, her legs spread, and reaching back with both hands to grab her ass cheeks and squeeze them as I continued to enter and exit her from behind.
“Yes, Daddy. Yes,” she said.
[For unabridged version, send us an email.]